


Favorite Things

by jooliewrites



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Light porn with feelings, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Some dom/sub undertones, again very light porn (this tag may be misleading), honestly - very light (don't want you to be misled), very light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:43:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2599262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor’s favorite thing about Oliver is his poor eyesight. </p><p>---</p><p>Connor discovers an unexpected Oliver-centric kink of his on a lazy Sunday morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Favorite Things

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, 
> 
> I wasn't entirely sure how to tag this but it might be much less porn-y than the tags may have led you to believe (I'm not the best at tagging if you haven't figured that out yet) so apologies if you feel misled after reading.
> 
> Hope you enjoy,  
> -Jules xoxo

Connor’s favorite thing about Oliver is his poor eyesight.

He stumbles upon this revelation one lazy Sunday morning in bed. They awoke tangled in each other and each made a half-hearted attempt or two to get out of bed before they both give up the pretense that the day is going to be at all productive and start lazily making out. After a moment, Oliver pushes Connor onto his back and straddles his hips. Connor knuckles his hands in Oliver’s hair and pulls his mouth back to his, desperate and wet.

Connor lets out a small groan when Oliver pulls back and reaches up to grab Connor’s wrists and to tug them out of his hair. With a touch that is firm but gentle, Oliver holds the other man’s wrists in one hand and presses them into the mattress above his head. With the other hand, Oliver turns Connor’s chin and, since his eyesight is so bad, he gets so close to Connor that their noses are practically touching so his gaze can focus in on Connor’s.

“You keep your hands here, okay?” Oliver’s eyes are steady as they hold Connor’s gaze and Connor knows that if he says no Oliver will instantly pull back. They have waded in this territory before.

“Okay,” Connor says with a small nod. He’d never admit it out loud but Connor loves when Oliver takes charge like this. He loves letting go of that control he clings to during the day and letting Oliver carry him away.

“Another thing,” Oliver says and waits for Connor’s gaze to focus back on him. “I want to hear you. Those gorgeous sounds you make…” Oliver trails off and Connor lets out a soft groan. “Yes, exactly,” he chuckles darkly. “ _Those_ pretty sounds. I want to hear all of them.”

Connor doesn’t know how much he likes that request. Letting go of the reigns is one thing but having to give voice to every whimper and groan; listening to himself beg Oliver takes him apart and pieces him back together again. That is a totally different thing. He figures though he could give it a shot and hold himself back if necessary so he doesn’t sound too desperate and pathetic. “Um…okay.”

“Good.” Oliver says in that dark tone that Connor feels shiver all the way down his spine and taps two fingers on the bottom of Connor’s chin, directing him to arch his neck.

Considering Oliver’s demeanor at the moment, Connor expects rough kisses and frantic touches; he expects it to be harsh and rough and fast. The almost chaste pecks Oliver trails down one side of his neck and up the other are unexpected and he finds himself holding back whimpers much earlier than anticipated. Before Oliver, Connor never realized how much he craved soft touches and light caresses. No one but Oliver ever took the time to worship him like this and Connor never understood how desperately he needed someone to.

Oliver moves down to ghost open mouth kisses across his chest and lazily circles his tongue around one nipple before gently biting it and moving on to repeat the soft torture to the other. Oliver shifts his body so he is comfortably settled between Connor’s thighs and brushes his fingertips over Connor’s hips and thighs with a touch that feels almost reverent. He continues to mouth those soft, wet kisses down Connor’s stomach and sucks a mark onto Connor’s hipbone, earning a particularly load groan from Connor.

Connor can feel Oliver’s smile at that as the man moves down to bite gentle bruises along his thighs and mouth the base of his groin, ignoring his dick altogether. Connor wishes he could move his hands. He wishes he could just reach down and direct that mouth where he needs it. He wants to watch Oliver take him deep, those pink lips stretching as he disappears into that warm, wet mouth.

Oliver curls his tongue around the head of Connor’s cock and Connor bites his lip to stifle his groan; the last groan he let out was entirely too needy for his liking. Something in the noise alerts Oliver that he’s holding back and the other man looks up, reaching up a hand to trace his lips since he can't see Connor's face clearly. Feeling Connor biting his lower lip, Oliver gently peels the lip out and makes his way back up so he and Connor are lying next to each other again.

“I thought I said I wanted to hear you,” Oliver quietly scolds, bringing his face close to Connor’s again so their eyes meet.

“You did. But Ollie,” Connor bites back a moan as Oliver runs a teasing finger down his cock. “It’s too…it’s too much. I can’t Ollie.” Oliver leans back a little to consider that and then lets go of Connor to blindly grab for the lube in the bedside table and Connor whimpers a little at the loss.

Finding the bottle, Oliver spreads some on his fingers and wraps a loose fist around Connor’s cock. Slowly jacking him off, Oliver brings his lips to whisper in Connor’s ear. “Do you want to know why I want to hear you Connor?” Connor shakes his head, tilting his face and trying to capture Oliver’s lips with his own but Oliver easily evades. Connor softly whimpers again at needing to touch and being denied as Oliver goes on. “I want to hear you because I want to know wrecked I’ve made you. How I brought you to the very edge. Reduced you to begging and pleading.

“See, you have it easy,” Oliver shifts again to pressing more those lazy kisses on Connor’s chest as makes his way back down and continues to pump the other man's cock. “You get to see how wrecked you make me. You get to see my face as you pull me apart me with your tongue and hands. You can watch as you fuck me over that edge. But I don’t have that luxury.”

He grips Connor’s hips and holds the other man down as he wraps his lips around his cock. Oliver swallows him down in one quick motion and runs his tongue over a prominent vein as he pulls off. Connor lets out a filthy string of curses and wishes he could move his hands, arch his hips, do something other than lay back and take it. “Ollie, please.” Connor whispers. He needs more than this. He needs to touch Oliver. He needs to trace Oliver’s lips, run his hand over Oliver’s cheek, and trail his fingertips down Oliver’s throat as Oliver sucks him down.

“I can’t see you when you’re like this Connor,” Oliver ignores him. “Spread over my bed, all pretty beneath me. I can’t see how gorgeous I’ve made you.” Oliver reaches again for the lube and Connor may or may not reach down to hand it to him before putting his hands back where they’re supposed to be, if Oliver notices he lets it slide this time. He spreads some lube over his fingers and presses gently against Connor’s hole. Connor rolls his hips, letting out another filthy moan, trying to force Oliver's finger in but Oliver just keeps it lightly against his hole, the teasing him with the light pressure.

“So I need to hear you. I need to hear all those pretty noises you make. I want every moan, every whimper. All those filthy, needy sounds. I want to hear how close I've brought you. How far gone you are because of me. You can't hold them back from me because I need to hear you fall apart.” Oliver finally presses a finger in as he takes Connor deep into his mouth again. Connor shudders and throws back his head with a moan. He grips the edge of the mattress above his head and arches his hips as Oliver bobs his head in tandem with the finger gently working in and out of Connor’s hole. After moment, Oliver pulls off and leans back a little. “Can you do that for me Connor? Can you be loud for me?”

Connor looks down at and tries to meet Oliver’s gaze but it is scattered and unfocused. Even this close together, Oliver can’t really see him, at least not clearly, and Connor thinks how frustrating that must be. “Yeah Ollie,” he says breathlessly. “I can do that.”

“Good,” Oliver smiles at that and takes Connor deep again while pressing a second finger in to join the first and Connor lets out a groan, so loud that is sure to be heard by the neighbors.

That morning, Connor screams himself horse as Oliver takes him apart inch by inch and slowly pieces him back together again. Later that afternoon at Professor Keating’s office, sipping herbal tea and sucking on a cough drop Laurel gives him when he mentions he thinks he’s coming down with a late fall cold to explain the fact that his voice is suddenly gone, Connor decides that Oliver’s poor eyesight is Connor’s new favorite thing.

 

+

 

Not that he would ever tell Oliver about his weird fetish. It’s probably really awful to tell your lover that one of the things you like best about them is one of the things they hate.

And Oliver certainly hates that he has terrible vision. He grumbles about it in the mornings when he can’t read the time on his alarm clock no matter how much he squints. He complains about it on the mornings he misplaces his glasses and gets so frustrated blindly feeling around for them to no avail that he wakes Connor up to help him look for where they have fallen to this time. And he’s downright bitter about it the few times they have gone to see 3D movies and the glasses provided by the theater don’t quite fit over his frames.

The worst of course is when Oliver doesn’t say anything at all about it. Those are the nights Connor arrives to find Oliver’s apartment semi-dark with Tom Waits wafting out the speakers attached to Oliver’s laptop and Oliver laying out across his couch one arm thrown over his eyes and the other holding his glasses on his chest. Connor touches his shoulder and Oliver shifts his arm up to squint up at him but the other man’s eyes never quite focus on Connor’s face. Since Oliver can’t see his quizzical expression, he softly asks Oliver what’s wrong.

“Headache. Eyes hurt,” Oliver says, shifting his arm back down so the comforting pressure is back. “Too many screens.” Connor asks if there’s anything he can do, if Oliver needs anything, and Oliver just shakes his head. At a loss, Connor sets up at Oliver’s kitchen table with his homework (he can’t really ask the man to hack into computers when he is clearly in pain) but finds it difficult to focus with Oliver hurting an arm’s length away.

Abandoning his work, Connor walks over to couch to nudge Oliver’s shoulder again. With minimal discussion, they manage to arrange themselves on the couch with Oliver pressing his face into the crook of Connor’s shoulder while Connor runs a soothing hand down his back. Laying there, listening to Picture in a Frame, Connor hates himself for ever thinking that he enjoyed Oliver's eyesight.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so that little bit at the end might not necessarily work in with the flow of the story but the whole thing came out of those few paragraphs so I didn't feel right just taking it out. Also, it felt too odd to have something like that start the story so....yeah. Feel free to send angry messages [here](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/).


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